PS 3505 ^ g| 
.L325 ' " ' 

V4 ^^^^^^^^^^^ 

1891 
Copy 1 

VERSES 



BY 



Helen T. Clark. 



PHILADELPHIA \ 

PRESS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
i8qi. 



33 



VERSES 



Helen T. Clark. 




PHILA DELPHIA : 

PRESS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
1891 . 






Copyright, 1891, by Helen T. Clark. 



I 



DEDICATED 

TO THE 

MEMORY OF MY KIND AND LOVING FATHER, 

DAVID TAGGART, 

WHO DIED JUNE 30, 1888. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Via Crucis ^ 

Possession o 

Prometheus j2 

The Flower of Pain ,-, 

Mendelssohn's "Regret" ic 

Harvest 17 

Mirage lo 

Deferred 20 

Barrier Reefs -,-. 

^j 

Arisen 21; 

Indian Summer 



Memnon 



27 



2J 



Spell-Bound ^i 

On the Heights -,2 

The Spirit of the Dawn 35 

1* 5 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Steamer-Arrivals ... -,-. 
o7 

A Vigil ^ ^o 

Songs of Silence .j 

Wrecks .- 

FoOTrRINTS .- 

" An Appeal to C^sar" * 47 

Quiet Hours .„ 

Sesame -i 

A Prophecy c , 

The Balance cr 

The Victor 1-5 

Beyond Seas cS 

A Vocation cp 

Two-Fold 52 

"Transients" 5. 



Unrecognized 



67 



Mkcca (^^ 



VIA CRUCIS. 

The poet dipped his pen, and drew 
His vivid pictures, phrase by phrase, 

Of skies and misty mountains bkie, 
Of starry nights and shimmering days. 

Men said, ''He breedeth fancies pure: 

His touch is facile, swift, and sure." 

The poet's friend was stricken sore. 

In tender tears the pen he dipped, 
And breathed his gentle sorrow o'er. 

And traced the sympathetic script. 
Men said, ''His heart is kind and true: 
The laurel yet may l)e his due." 



VIA CRUCIS. 
The poet's child has waxen hands 

That hold Death's heavy-scented rose. 
She drifts to the dim shadow-lands, 

And draws his wild soul as she goes. 
* * ^^ * * 

He dipped the pen in his heart's wound, 
And, sobbing, wrote,-and thus was crowned : 
iThe Index, June 3, 1886. J 



POSSESSION. 

I SAID, one morn, "I will review my wealth, 

My lands of rare estate." 
And, lo ! swift weeds and high had choked by stealth 
What else were fairest growth ! Early and late 

A spell was in the air. Mine eyes waxed blind. 

Nothing seemed fine or good. 
No voice could charm, no friend to me be kind. 
All was distortion to my thankless mood. 

My heritage was vain. My soul was sealed 

To influence sweet. Mine ear 
Could catch no rhythmic pulse of lives afield — 
Fleet wing of bird or bee. No flower-haunts near 



^° POSSESS/ON. 

Wove mystic, viewless nets my feet to snare. 

"Joyless the world!" I cried. 
And straightway one who in his right hand bare 
A magic lens appeared my path beside. 

To my filmed, fretful sight the glass he raised, 

And wondroiisly outspread 
My vista of possession ! Centuries blazed 
Like jewels, each one glory-heralded. 

Each heralding the new. Strange meanings flashed, 

Revealed to my swift sense. 
All hate with love, all grief with joy was dashed. 
All toil with hope,-e'en where I traced, intense, 

Those misty footprints vanishing o'er the verge, 

Where old blind Homer hurled 
(As breaks on sea-set crag the baffled surge) 
Great shocks of song against a blinder world ! 



POSSESSION. 1 1 

Down the long line of dreamers, toilers, all 

Their final heights achieved. 
No spirit truly grand but broke its thrall ; 
No prophet-word but was at last believed. 

All martyrdoms bred peace. All truths gleamed gold. 

All drosses fell to earth, 
And, slow-transmuted, blessed earth's young and old 
With healing. Life from death and doom had birth. 

Then vibrant thrilled his voice who walked beside : 

"To him that hath, new gifts 
Drop daily, hourly. So shall naught abide 
With him who undiscerning gaze uplifts!" 

\_The Index, January 5, 1882.] 



PROMETHEUS. 

I GLORY in my torment, O ye Powers 
That seek to crush my soul with bodily ill ! 
I mount into the empyrean still, 

Though chained and helpless thro' the lagging hours. 
Still I am free! This gloomy rock that towers 
Above my fettered limbs, my puny frame. 
Binds not my dauntless will ! The deathless flame 
I seized burns in me ! Here no craven cowers. 
Though every pang I bear were trebly keen. 
Think ye, Olympians, I would fain forego 
The joy of having dared immortal heights? 
Behold, I brave ye with exultant mien ! 
Though my triumi)hant heart bleeds sure and slow, 
And quenchless pain of hell thro' all my being smites ! 
IBos^on Transcript, March 12, 1886.] 



THE FLOWER OF PAIN. 

Singing, I pause amid my glowing roses, 

My leaning lilies fair, 
And, lo ! my search a hidden stalk discloses 

Of leaves and blossoms bare. 

''A poor, dull weed!" I cry, and, all unbrooking 

Its plain and flowerless lines, 
I struggle to uproot it, never looking 

Beyond its outward signs. 

In vain I strive, with weak, impatient fingers. 

Strong set within the mould 

The hardy interloper lives and lingers 

Where beauty's buds unfold. 

2 13 



^4 THE FLOWER OF PAIN. 

Ever with jealous thoughts I watch it growing : 

It robs my life of grace; 
It spreads its dark root-fibres, overflowing 

My garden's tiny space. 

It puts forth leaves of tropic duskness drooping 

Between me and the sun, — 
My roses' pride, my lilies' graceful grouping 

Are all undone ! undone ! 

* * * * ,t 

Waking to-day, dim-eyed and heavy-hearted, 

I catch its breath divine,— 
I see amid the dusky leaflets parted 

Rich colors throb and shine. 

I see it blooming through the years forever. 

Its blessing, ah, how plain ! 
Life's one deep rose whose crimson fadeth never, 

The perfect flower of pain ! 

\_Springfiehi Republican, June 27, 1S87.] 



MENDELSSOHN'S ''REGRET." 

A WAILING wind that sobs beside a grave, 

Where watch Love's eyes, their brightness ever 
dimmed, 
Where cling Love's hands whose touch was vain to save — 
A new-made mound with Spring's pale grasses 
rimmed. 

A cry that rings across the gulf of death : 

'' Come back ! Come back ! Love's task unfinished 
lies! 
His words were all too few, sweet vanished breath ! 
His looks too seldom beamed, fair vanished eyes!" 

15 



1 6 MENDELSSOHN'S ''REGRETS 

''[JDfinished!" Ah, the hopeless word that weighs 
Unhfting ever on the stricken heart! 

-Too late!"— the burden of our desolate days! 
Sad final notes— the Master's matchless art ! 

\_The Continent, July, 1884.] 



HARVEST. 

"Where hast thou gleaned to-day?" 
In stony i3laces where no joys abound ? 
Or where the pirate weeds usurp the ground, 
Defrauding nobler fruitage? Didst thou lay 

Thy sickle's keen, bright blade 
Athwart the heavy-freighted corn and wheat? 
Field-argosies of treasure more complete 
Than Grecian mariners of old conveyed. 

When with broad sails unfurled 
They left with -costly bales" Phoenicia's shore, 
From haughty Tyre her priceless purples bore. 
With gold and spices from the Orient world. 

^ 17 



1 8 HARVEST. 

Didst bind thy sunset sheaves 
With silver laughter and the homeward song 
Of joyous men and maidens, lingering long 
Upon the fragrant slopes where autumn weaves 

Her garlands? Didst thou bless 
The poor from thine o'erflowing measure's store? 
Leaving at some lone widow's friendless door 
A portion of thy fortunate excess? 

Did self alone control 
The heedful garnering of thy loaded wains ? 
Better thou hadst but fared on barren plains, 
Amid the dry, dead stalks of Famine's dole ! 

Only the hand that gives 
Shall find increase of good from year to year. 
Who fails the plaint of suffering lips to hear 
Shall starve his soul, though S}'barite he lives ! 

{^Springfield Republican, October 14, iSSo.] 



MIRAGE. 

I JOURNEYED on Strange roads with eager pace, 
Bearing a flask of priceless, perfect wine. 
Seeking the one true soul whose thought should shine 
Back to my own eyes from the one true face. 
I stumbled wearily in many a place- 
Keen briers tore me— clinging weeds did twine 
Round my impatient feet— and still no sign 
Did Heaven vouchsafe that my strained eyes could trace. 
One day upon the desert's treeless rim 
A sudden vision flamed, and solemn, slow, 
The oft-imagined whisper thrilled— '' Behold !" 
I raised my off'ering— stood erect of limb. 
And glad of heart— a mocking laugh— and lo ! 
The greedy sands had drunk my drops of gold ! 

\_Spnngfiehi Republican, April 17, 1S87.] 

19 



DEFERRED. 

If thou shouldst suffer wrong 
Of fraud or falsehood at thy brother's hands, 
The hidden root of thy revenge nurse long 
And patiently, until it flowering stands, 

High as the topmost heaven. 
Deep as the ocean, broad as flowing light. 
Warm as the circling life which God has given 
To vibrate in thy veins and his. The might 

Of justice on thy side 
Shall make thee bold; but keep thy vengeance set. 
Strike not while fleeting wealth and power and pride 
Make glad his world. Not yet thy day-not yet. 



20 



DEFERRED, 21 

Gaze on his fertile fields, 
His fair domains, his happy, smiling brood 
Of little ones, and all that fortune yields 
To bless. Thine hour of triumph still holds good. 

When storms shall sweep his roof. 
And fate shall blight his cattle or his grain, 
When friends of fairer skies shall stand aloof, 
When Death shall thrill his darkened home with pain, 

Go thou and lift the load 
That weighs upon his burdened heart that day. 
Set purse and scrip before him. What he owed 
To tliee shall melt in Pity's glow away ! 

Then, lest his eyes bowed down 
Should lift, and find thee sudden, unaware, — 
Haste thee — for thus thy brow shall bear the crown 
Reserved for holiest saints to win and wear. 



DEFERRED. 

Let him not know thy deed, — 
So shall it spread and blossom in thy soul : 
Until thy life hath passed from earthly need, 
Its growth and fragrance shall thy days control. 

IThe Index, October 28, 1880.] 



BARRIER REEFS. 

Beautiful skies and a sapphire sea 
Whose kiss on the sand falls lovingly, 
While soft airs hover o'er you and me, 

And the sun shines brave on the barrier 

Sunset of opal, and waves of gold, 

A leaden line where the sea grows cold. 

Tears of protest — a tale half-told — 

As the shadows creep o'er the barrier. 

Storms sweep over the headlands gray: 

''Miserere!" the wild winds say. 

The cry of a hunted soul at bay ! 

And the sea moans by the barrier ! 
* ^ * * * 

23 



24 BARRIER REEFS. 

Midnight skies with their blotted stars. 
Tempest and rack — then lurid bars 
Of sunrise crimson the last frail spars 

Of a life-boat — wi^ecked on the barrier ! 

\_Frank Leslie's Illustrated Neiospaper, March 24, 1883.] 
Reprinted by permission. 



ARISEN. 

A STATELY lily in my garden groweth, 

Wind-swept, sun-kissed, dew-noorished, day by day ; 
The secret of its vesture no man knoweth, 

The lesson of its glory who can say? 

In stronghold of the earth, when skies were frowning. 
Green-coffered in the germ its life was hid ; 

To-day it stands, the spot with radiance crowning : 
What touch hath loosed its prison's sealing lid? 

What hand hath lifted into snowy splendor 
Its regal head, from clods of bondage free ? 

What wand hath touched it with a grace so tender? 
What voice hath bid it gladden life for me? 



26 



ARISEN. 



Vainly I question. Silence, brooding ever, 
Weaves round its golden heart the mystic veil 

No mortal hand may lift — no eye forever 

Shall pierce. Far-reaching science can but fail 

To seize the clue of its divine unfolding, 

To grasp its inmost law of genesis; 
Yet, in the rapture of the eye's beholding. 

One lesson sure the spirit shall not miss: 

To work in hope, through grieving months of sorrow, 
To feel the prescient thrill of coming good,* 

To know that on some bright and sudden morrow 
The days of darkness shall be understood. 

^Springfield Republican, August 30, 1880.] 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

A ROSE that flamed with June's red fire 
A fond hand phicked long since for me; 

A fond voice prayed: ''My soul's desire 
Is but to tread life's path with thee!" 

Scarce sooner did the red rose die 

Than died his love who spoke so fair ! 

The summer's flitting phantasy — 
Dissolved into the mocking air. 

To-day you gave me asters, dear, 

As through the fallow fields we passed. 

'Tis autumn now of life and year, 
Yet, O dear heart, true faith at last ! 
\_Frank Leslie's Ilhisirated Newspaper, September 3, 1SS7.] 

Reprinted by permission. 

27 



M E M N O N. 

Singer of sunrise ! Morn and music steeping 
Thebes' gated world/in that dim, olden time! 
Night-shadowed Nile, thro' gray sands slowly creeping, 
Waxed golden at the chime. 

Where the broad-petaled lotus bathed her splendor, 
By phalanxed guards of tall, Egyi)tian reeds. 
Fell the new light, unspeakable and tender. 
To fill their silent needs. 

Dusk-limbed and lithe, what hosts to labor springing 

Woke, doubly smit on slumberous eye and ear, 

Day's garment o'er the supple contours flinging, 

While duty waited near ! 
28 



MEMNON. 29 

And thro' the smithy's clang, the corn-field's labor — 
In money-changers' din, thro' breathless hours, 
Lingered that strain, a high, triumphal tabor 
To spur Toil's flagging powers? 

As from a circling dove, in ether poising, 
A wafted plume floats the harsh world upon, 
On greed and wrong, on Hate's discordant voicing 
Fell from that Son of Dawn. 

A gift of peace? An influence of healing 
The jangling tongues, the ''chord of self" to still? 
A ray into the soul's dark chambers stealing, 
Its holier pulse to thrill? 

No myth is lost, no secret pearl of meaning 
Slips from its shell into Oblivion's sea. 
The dross decays, the essence supervening 
Uplifts humanity. 



so MEMNON. 

Seek newer Memnons, O life's feverous toilers ! 
List for his note, pale bondmen of to-day ! 
War's ravage, storms, nor Fate's most grim despoilers 
Shall fleet his powers away ! 

\_SpyingfieId Republican, July 30, 1882.] 



SPELL-BOUND. 

PjLACK, dolorous boughs that wave with shuddering sigh, 
As Dantean spirits of the underworld 
Locked in their weird tree-prisons hopeless cry, 
By winds of moaning swirled, — 

Do vain regret and bitter memories hide 
Like human heart-throbs in your leafless limbs? 
Do cruel sweeping winds your woe deride, 
As the wan daylight dims? 

Not hopeless ye ! For, yet a little while, 
Till green leaves clothe your writhing arms with grace; 
To voice of birds and summer's full-fraught smile 
Your grieving shall give place. 

^The Index, April 2, 18S5.] 
31 



ON THE HEIGHTS. 

Far up the dizzy heights of Alpine splendor, 
Beyond the ruthless touch of human hand, 

A crown of beauty on a stalklet slender. 

The flower of ''noble stainlessness" doth stand. 

The clouds of evening tinge it rose and violet, — 
The moonbeams kiss it into mystic grace ; 

No print of foot may reach it or defile it, — 
No "trail of serpent" find its hiding-place. 

The sounds of earth-born strife, of mortal sorrow. 
Die into silence ere they reach its cleft; 

Clothed on with light, from morrow unto morrow 
It blooms, the purest thing that sin has left. 



ON THE HEIGHTS. ZZ 

And, chiming clear and high about its dwelling, 

The music of the monastery bells, 
Sweet as a flute, then diapason-swelling, 

Bears on its wings a prayer from convent-cells. 

So one true life, above all petty hating, 
Above the lies of envy, rage, and scorn. 

Lives on, its steady purpose naught abating, 
'J'hat men shall bless the hour it was born. 



Crimsoned with noble fires of high endeavor, 
Soul-swayed l)y harmonies of truth divine. 

Hearing the slanderous tongues, but heeding never, 
It gathers to itself the fair and fine 



Of other lives — the music of the singers. 
The rapt creations of the artist's brain, 

The poet's dreams, — all are its harvest-bringers. 
That it may heap another's scanty wain. 



34 ON THE HEIGHTS. 

Brave and unselfish, knightly, true and tender, 
To weak and sinful ones a shielding hand, — 

Not up the dizzy heights of Alpine splendor 

Doth flower of "Edelweiss" more fragrant stand. 
\_The Index, August 14, 1879.] 



THE SPIRIT OF THE DAWN. 

As one who guards some sweet surprise 
With lock and key from dearest eyes, 
Her glimmering veil o'erspreads the skies. 

Then, 'twixt the darkness and the day, 
Her robes of mist float pale and gray. 
Till broadened to the perfect ray. 

For sudden gleams a shaft of gold, 

The courier of her wooer bold 

Who climbs the mountains dim and cold. 

Her shadowy face has whiter grown. 
His mighty arm is round her thrown. 
Yet clasp, and kiss, and lover's tone 



35 



S6 THE SPIRIT OF THE DAWN. 

Are all too late, — are all in vain. 

She swoons with languor and sweet pain, 

And dies upon the gilded plain. 

l^Springficld Republican, December 21, 1884.] 



STEAMER-ARRIVALS. 

Up from the under-world, 
Where the many marvels be, 
With blazoned banners and sails unfurled, 
They are climbing for you and me, — 
Our glorious ships at sea ! 

Cargoes of dream-delight ! 
And down to the crowded quay 
We press, in the morn or the solemn night, 
With the revelling breeze at play 
On the glint of the sapphire bay. 

4 37 



SS STEAMER-ARRIVALS. 

So sure in our hope, — so sure 
Of the grating keel on the sand ! 
That the waves will sleep, and the beams endure 
Till the treasure be safe at hand, — 
Till the sailor steps on the strand. 

Our neighbor's loss and wreck ! 
It is one risk less for our own, 
And we almost hear, from the stately deck, 
The song o'er the waters blown, 
For our waiting ears alone. 

:f: * * * * 

"Missing!" — and dun clouds drift 
O'er the glint of the sapphire bay, 
Never again from our lives to lift. 

As we shrink from the crowded (luay. 
In the glare of the mocking day ! 

Down in the under-world. 
Where the countless perils be, — 



STEAMER-ARRIVALS. 39 

With crews despairing, and canvas furled, 
They are sinking, from you and me, — 
Our doomed ships at sea ! 

Our neighbor's loss and wreck ! 
Our souls it lightly stirred ; 
But now, — in the dream of the vanished deck 
And the song that our ears have heard, 
We can utter the heart's deep word ! 

\_SpringfieId Republican, June 12, 1 88 1.] 



A VIGIL. 

The day is dead, the night is chill, 
The moon drifts slowly down the bay. 
Her myriad broken lights at pla}'. 
And one I love is white and still. 

No quiver of the carven lip, 
No flutter of the folded hands — 
I sit and count the dropping sands, 
And grasp the moments as they slip. 

* :|J * :}; ^ 

Another Watcher, gray and grim. 
Divides with me the solemn night, 
And when the flushing East is bright 
I find myself alone with him ! 
\_Frank Leslie's Ilhistrated Nexvspaper, Dec. 27, 1884.] 

Reprinted by permission. 
40 



SONGS OF SILENCE. 

Sweeter than carols at the break of day, 

Earth's silences betray 
The subtle music lost to ear of sense ; 

Only the soul intense 

Hears Dryads laughing in the moonlit leaves, 

While the wind interweaves 
Low symphonies across the harps of Night, — 

Can note the murmurs light 

Of dew-hung grasses, growing green and slim, 

'Mid the tall lilies' dim 
White ghosts that glimmer on the garden path, 

Such songs the stillness hath ! 



42 SONGS OF SILENCE. 

E'en underground, the tiny darkling world 

Of stem and rootlet curled, 
Groping its way with guided impulse strong, 

Voices its " j^rison-song. " 

O rhythmic pulse of growth that sways and keys 

To the great harmonies ! 
Let stars swing on in their deep cadences; 

Your music is not less ! 

[Bos/on Transcript, September 17, 1885.] 



WRECKS. 

Oh, not alone the beating wave 

Flings broken treasure on the sands, — 

Cargoes no mortal power could save 
For aching eyes, for empty hands. 

Some day, in quiet inland ways, 

'Neath shining skies, 'mid lavish bloom, 

We start, in bitter, swift amaze, 

While slowly knells our hour of doom. 

O, drowning hands that wreathe and wring, 
The shores are far, the seas are deep ! 

Fate floats no spar where ye may cling. 
Love comes not near your folded sleep. 



43 



44 WRECKS. 

Yet Love, remembering, dries her tears, 
And thankful dreams on what has been ; 

But wrecks of wasted, aimless years 

Bow down the heart, like weight of sin. 
\_Sprin^eld Republican, March 14, 1885.] 



FOOTPRINTS. 

Across the day, — across the night, — 
Like countless doves in silent flight, 
Floats down the feathery, stainless white. 
Unbroken gleams a moment's space 
Without a touch, without a trace, — 
Too soon to dark despoil gives place. 

The mire of wheels, the haste of feet. 
Gray toil at shivery dawn to meet, — 
The thousand soilings of the street ! 
Oh, thousand ways the footprints lead ! 
To shame and dole, to gloom and greed, 
To joy, and hope, and Christly deed. 



45 



46 FOOTPRINTS. 

The whiteness, caught by smirching clay, 
In secret mode, in destined day, 
Back to pure snow shall find its way. 
The footsteps lost in doubt and crime, 
In love's own way, in love's own time, 
Shall leave the clinging slough and slime. 

And up the steeps of good be set. 
Oh, help, ye loftier souls, nor let 
One longed-for word, withheld as yet. 
Die on your lips! — one reach of hand. 
From sunlit levels where ye stand, 
Fail the spent strength at love's demand ! 
S^SpritigJield Republican, January i, 1882.] 



''AN APPEAL TO C^SAR." 

The dull stain has deepened and grown, 
"Little Father," that rests by your throne, 
And lo ! where the tortured ones are. 
Rings a cry o'er the snow-fields afar! 
Will you hear it, O Czar? 

In the huts and the homes of your realm 
Hides a power that must needs overwhelm — 
And on the horizon a star 
Trembles, caught on the sunset's red scar ! 
Will you see it, O Czar? 



47 



48 ''AN APPEAL TO C^SARr 

Chained hands in their agony lift ; 
Thoughts unchained and desperate drift 
Across the wide seas to the bar 
Where stands our New World avatar ! 
Will you heed them, O Czar? 

When the thunder of footsteps shall break 
At the gates of your palace, and shake 
To impuissant tinsel your crown, 
Dare you trust to your Muscovite frown 
That tumult to down ? 

God reigns! and the wail of your "child," 
Scourged, knouted, betrayed, and exiled. 
Shall pierce through the universe-roar, 
Till the thunder that breaks at your door 
Shall be stilled evermore ! 

\_JVomans Journal, March 29, 1890.] 



QUIET HOURS. 

Gray-robed and silent-footed do they come, — 

Each with her priceless gift : 
One with still brow, and pale, sweet hands that lift 
Imperishable garlands in the gloam. 

"These for remembrance,"'— and a mist of tears 

O'ercomes my longing eyes. 
As one to whom, from sudden-veiling skies, 
Dimly his loved, familiar .star appears. 

I look again, — and one with brilliant gaze 

Holds forth a jewelled crown, — 
Achievement, and the hope of fair renown. 
And peaceful sunset to youth's stormy days. 

5 49 



50 QUIET HOURS. 

And one — the last — with earnest, thoughtful mien, 

Turns in her slender hands 
An hour-glass with its golden, dropping sands, 
And thrills me strangely with her look serene. 

Memory, and Hope, and Present Duty — all 

Voiceless, yet eloquent ! 
As angels came of old to Abraham's tent, 
Like dew your silent visitations fall ! 

\_Sprinf;Jield Republican, February 15, 1885.] 



SESAME. 

He shall not wholly starve 
Whom twin faiths nurture, — trust in his own race, 

And his own will to carve 
Success from untoward elements, and trace 

The angel in the block 
Of roadside marble. Guerdons wait for him. 

For him rare keys unlock 
Strange portals to vast corridors and dim. 

Leading to fates unguessed. 
Though ever at his side threat ghostly Want, 

He trusts each day's bequest 
To serve his simple need. Sin-spectres haunt 



52 SESAME. 

His healthful slumbers not. 
Hope that turns pointless every thrust of Time 

Wrests jewels from his lot. 
Endurance makes his poverty sublime. 

\_The Index, February 24, 1882.] 



A PROPHECY. 

I NEVER saw your face — and yet I know 

On some glad morn its smile will bloom for me 

In sudden tenderness, and earth will glow 

On mountain height, and plain, and silver, sea. 



I never heard your voice — and yet its tone 
Will pulse in music through some lonely day, 

Till all life's hidden griefs be subtly flown. 
And flowers break forth beside the dusty way. 

I never held your hand — and yet its touch 
Will send new strength along my weary arm. 

And sordid cares that burden overmuch. 
Its clasp will lift and lighten like a charm, 

5* S3 



54 A PROPHECY. 

Your step I know not — yet like ringing sword 
Its fall will sound upon my toiling way, 

And I shall turn and listen for that word 

The heavens themselves will lean to heai- }0u say. 

\_Cosmopolilan Magazine, for October, 1890.] 
Reprinted by permission. 



THE BALANCE. 

One with sealed eyes caught glory greater far." 
Than streamed from sun or star ; 

And one sat blind who o})en-eyed could gaze 
On beauty's myriad rays. 

One, poor in purse, held deeds of richest gift, — 

His fancy's golden thrift. 
One with broad lands and stately halls stood bare, 

Where blew want's keenest air. 

O stones for bread ! The fatal Midas-hand 

Brings famine o'er the land ! 
While he who lifts life's wormwood to his lip 

Shall kingliest nectar sip ! 

\_Springfield Republican, October ii, 1 885.] 

55 



THE VICTOR. 

Day brought to me a joy — a rapturous cry, 

Broke from my famished lips ; 
But like a gliding ghost my Grief stood by, 

And with pale finger-tips 

Laid chilling touch upon me: '^ Barest thou laugh, 

And I so newly come? 
Has not Fate written down to me the half 

Of all thy hearth and home?" 

Her dun robes shadowed me. With streaming eyes 

I kissed my joy farewell: 

''It may not be. 'Neath her fell scrutinies 

Nor love nor hope can dwell." 
56 



THE VICTOR. 57 

Joy clasped me closer, with a steadfast smile : 
''Peace, troubled soul, be still! 

Griefs gray robes fade— in her life-long exile 
Behold my sovereign will!" 

^Boston Traveller, November 28, 1885.] 



BEYOND SEAS. 

The dust is dry about your feet to-day, 
Your dear, dead feet in that far, foreign grave, — 
Yet could my tears across the waves find way, 
That dust their showers would lave. 

Your name, beloved, on that gray, alien stone, 
Strange eyes behold, strange lips indifferent spell, 
Yet could my voice blend with the wind's far moan, 
Grief's cadence wild would swell. 

All dull and deaf within that distant ground, 
Unthrilled by love lies your once eager ear. 
Yet could my heart but rest on that chill mound. 
Its throbs would wake you, dear. 

\_Frank Leslie's Illustrated ]Veiv$paper.'\ 

Reprinted by permission. 
58 



A VOCATION. 

It thrills like a new, strange quest, - 
This wide, free outlook on wind-swept scars, 
Where I, by pastures and meadow-bars, 
Set black on the gold of the burning west. 

Loiter, a bidden guest — 

Bidden of beauty — impelled 
To set my feet toward the utter rim 
Of the Visible, where, far and dim. 
In dust of the violet air are held 

The tremulous hills, as of eld. 



59 



6o A VOCATION. 

What am I, that I should turn back 
To the blazoned windows of the town, 
Touched by the sun on his Midas-track? 
Better to stay on the breeze-blown down, 

Where sweetness shall never lack. 

Who waits for or misses me? 
Not one — though a weary alien I 
Should stray from the dusk till the dawn-flushed sky 
Thrilled on my way like the roses which lie 

In the path of a bridal company. 

An onward seeking, a farther quest. 
Where the gold is drossed into crimson stains — 
To change on change — till the gray remains, 
The only rack of that burning west ; 

And into my lonely breast 

A messenger comes like a dove. 
With a song like pearls of an untold price : 



A VOCATION. 6 1 

''Though never for thee shall be home and love, 
For thee, at thy birth, the three Fates wove 
The richest of destinies. 

"To set thyself in another's place; 
To sound the depths of all mortal grief; 
To reach the heights of all mortal grace — 
And the world's mute life to paraphrase!" 

O passionate heart's relief! 

O duty bitter-sweet ! 
To gather up into painful sheaves 
The grain that the full-fed reaper leaves ! 
O precious gold of the scattered wheat, 

Deep-trodden by careless feet ! 

[77/^ Index, Oclober 15, 1874.] 



T W OF OLD. 

O Life ! for thee did plan 
(Unguessed of friend or kin) a viewless Power 
(Ere thy swift arteries leaped, thy flaming currents ran), 

A realm of matchless dower 1 

White wonder it hath reared 
Of palace pure, with secrecy and skill, 
Where never grief shall brood nor steel of foe be feared. 

Its stately halls to fill. 

Its corridors to grace, 

Were brought the marvels of far lands and strange. 

That thou shouldst have, at will, a sure withdrawing 

place. 

Beyond thy little range 
62 



TWO-FOLD. ^2> 

Of daily toil and tears ! 
That thou from eastern windows mightst behold, 
Where from the mountain -tops the misty cloud-fleece 
clears, 

The free, forth-breaking gold ! 

What purple prince outvies 
The high-wrought si)lendor of thine other world ! 
Its fragile, fretted towers that lace-like gleam and rise 

From azure wavelets curled 

At their unquivering base ! 
What silver swell from seraph-throated lark 
Can thee so subtly thrill as voices that upraise 

Against that velvety dark 

Where thou dost dream and rest, 
Thoughts fathomless — the glimpsed things of God 
That shake thee with their vastness, — ah, so nobly blest. 

My Life, in thine abode, 



64 TWO-FOLD. 

Heed well, lest e'er should stray 
Past its fair lintel foot of guest unmeet ! 
Watch, lest thy hand should slight small duties of the 
day. 
To gain that loved retreat ! 

{The Index, July 28, 1S81.] 



-TRANSIENTS." 

Dear ghosts, whose softly-traiHng robes we hear, 
Yet see not — wide we set the household door. 
That your beloved footfalls, as of yore, 
May seek the old familiar hearth-light's cheer. 

So dark ! So cold ! The winter wind blows shrill, 
Haste in, dear ghosts, that we may bar it out, 
Nor stand in such pathetic, lingering doubt. 
The old love waits you— ah, the old love still ! 

Here are your places in the broken chain, — 
Dear lips unkissed— dear hands we may not hold- 
Dear feet, love-led across the dim, white wold 

To share the old remembered life again. 

e^ 65 



66 " transients:' 

When you go forth into the wailing night, 
Back to your lonely graves, bear with you hence 
Our chrism of tears — poor, tardy penitence 
For careless deeds our grief would fain set right. 

Aye, let those tears — dropped crystals in the snow- 
Be jewel-gleams to guide you home again. 
To your old places in the broken chain, 
Silent — unseen — within the hearth-light's glow ! 

\_Spri7igfield Republican, March 14, 1891.] 



UNRECOGNIZED. 

Dusk, tangled roots that rear 
Crests of white lilies, do your fibres hear 
And thrill, when mortal lips that pureness praise 

Which ye from slime upraise ? 

Is there a beating heart 
Tumultuous, hidden in that writhed part. 
Singing for joy, " 'Tis ours, this birth of bloom 

We filtered its perfume— 



"We swept its leaves with light — 

We shot swift currents upward, thro' the night, 

From chemic batteries ; wrought dull ooze and death 

To life of richest breath ! 

67 



68 UNRECOGNIZED. 

"And though ye heed us not, 
Who bend above our lily's whiteness (caught 
By its consummate fairness to forego 

Its dark root- meanings), yet we know, — we know !" 

So sweetness, light, and power. 
From Fate's aleml)ic leap, in some crowned hour, 
Whose veiled beginnings, in their low, poor places, 

No human vision traces. 

\_The Index, December i, 1881.] 



MECCA. 

Thro' sand-blown deserts where the winds are deatli 
Men press to see the mosques of Mahomet rise : 
Nor grudge their wearied limbs, their failing breath, 
If to their raptured eyes 

The sacred city gleam. Forgot the thirst — 
The pain-pierced feet — the white sand's level glare,— 
When they may hear the holy miiezzin burst 
On minaret-pencilled air. 

And I — thro' doubt, thro' wearyings manifold — 

Shall set my feet within the holy place, 

If in God's hour accomplished I behold 

The guerdon of thy face ! 

69 



70 MECCA. 

Will the day dawn when I shall count as naught 
The desert spaces of my lonely years? 
When, in the temple where my steps be brought, 
Thy look shall banish tears ? 
l^Frank Leslie's llhistrated Newspaper, October 14, 1882.] 

Reprinted by permission. 



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